“The  Great  War” 

ADDRESS  OF 

JOSEPH  B.  GUMMING, 

BEFORE 

Camp  435, 

United  Confederate  Veterans, 

AUGUSTA,  GA. 

MEMORIAL  DAY, 

1902. 


The  Chronicle  job  office, 
A U G U ST  A,  G A. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 
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My  Comrades: — It  is  forty-one  years  since  the  great  war 
commenced.  This  day  marks  the  thirty-seventh  anniversary  of 
its  close.  Of  the  thousands  who  survived  its  ravages,  by  far  the 
greater  part  have,  in  the  intervening  years  of  peace,  joined  then- 
comrades,  who  perished  while  it  was  still  flag-rant.  Ihose  who 
knew  its  realities  and  now  preserve  its  memories;  those  who 
did  their  duty  then  and  now  enjoy  that  consciousness;  those 
who  then  made  sacrifices  and  now  feel  a just  pride  in  recalling 
them — these  are  a small  minority  of  those  who  first  and  last 
mustered  under  the  Confederate  Flag.  During  the  war  death 
untimely  on  the  field  an,d  in  the  hospital,  and  death,  during  the 
long  years  of  peace,  in  the  order  of  nature  and  in  the  fullness  of 
years  has  reaped  the  greater  part  of  that  mighty  host.  1 he 
remnant  is  relatively  small  ,and  its  disappearance  is  proceeding 
with  accelerated  velocity. 

One  of  that  fast  diminishing  remnant,  addressing  my  com- 
rades and  fellows,  I am  not  disposed  to  play  the  historian  or 
chronicler.  There  is  a great  deal  of  that  going  on  all  the  time. 
Do  not  for  a moment,  however,  infer  from  the  expression  just 
used,  that  I would,  if  I could,  discourage  the  work  of  the  chron- 
icler. It  is  from  the  plain  simple  sketches  and  narratives  which 
individual  soldiers  are  contributing  out  of  the  fullness  of  their 
experience,  that  the  judicious  historian  of  the  future,  when  all 
passion  is  dead,  when  the  last  lingering  resentment  is  in  the 
grave,  when  politics  and  pensions  no  longer  distort  the  view, 
will  derive  his  truest  color  for  his  history  of  that  period.  But 
for  myself,  I prefer  to  devote  a little  time  to  the  consideration 
of  some  of  the  vestiges  of  that  momentous  period  as  we  find 
them  in  the  thought  and  heart  of  the  Present.  Some  reflections  on 
that  line  give  satisfaction.;  others  kindle  a feeling  of  sadness,  in 
which  is  mingled  a degree  of  vexation.  We  old  fellows  look 
back  upon  that  glowing  period  of  our  lives  with  so  much  emo- 
tion, it  stands  out  in  our  thoughts  and  feelings  as  so  different 
in  quality  from  the  life  of  common  times;  the  present  with  its 
commonplace  pursuits  and  interests  seems  so  small  in  com- 
parison with  that  heroic  age,  that  we  feel  disappointed,  aye,  vex- 
ed, at  the  lack  in  the  generation,  which  has  grown  up  since  the 
war — our  own  children — of  appreciation  of  the  greatness,  the 
solemn  isolation  of  that  tremendous  epoch.  This  younger  gen- 
eration knows  in  a general  way  that  forty  years  ago  there  was 
a war  in  the  land.  They  also.  know  that  four  years  ag-o  there 
was  a war.  They  saw  something  of  this  last  mentioned  war. 
It  was  not  much  of  an  affair,  they  say,  and  justly.  What  differ- 


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ence,  they  say,  between  the  war  of  forty  years  and  four  years 
ago?  This  younger  generation  is  too  busy  with  the  struggles, 
the  duties  and  the  pleasures  of  the  life  of  today  to  concern 
themselves  with  a dead  and  gone  past.  This  is  natural  and  per- 
haps we  should  not  cherish  any  resentment,  but  we  cannot 
escape  a feeling  of  disappointment. 

As  those,  who  did  not  live  in  that  time,  or  who,  if  living  then, 
were  not  old  enough  or  receptive  enough  to  receive  a true  im- 
pression of  it,  and  do  not  understand  the  then  emotions  of  the 
actors  therein,  or  the  effect  now  of  its  memories  on  its  survivors, 
let  me  endeavor  to  recall  feebly  at  least  the  spirit  of  an  unprece- 
dented era. 

What  is  man  in  the  world’s  government  but  an  instrument  in 
the  hand  of  its  Ruler?  How  little  we  short-sighted  mortals  un- 
derstand of  His  ways!  How  inscrutable  to  us  His  choice  of 
methods  to  effect  great  changes  here  on  His  footstool!  Shall  we, 
gropers  in  the  dark,  presume  to  inquire  whether  the  changes  to 
be  wrought  out  by  war  might  not  have  been  accomplished  amid 
all  the  beatitudes  of  peace?  Shall  we  impudently  complain  that 
the  power  which  can  order  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  as  He 
wills,  did  not  ordain  that  His  purpose  in  this  instance  should 
be  effected  in  amity  and  brotherly  love?  It  is  sufficient  for  us 
to  know  that  the  time  had  arrived  in  the  government  of  the 
world  when  a great  change  was  in  order.  For  reasons  which  we 
cannot  fathom,  it  was  to  come,  like  so  many  great  mutations  in 
the  world’s  history,  only  through  tears  and  blood.  If  tears  and 
blood  were  to  flow  in  rivers,  then  were  it  necessary  that  men 
should  rise  above  the  level  of  ordinary  times.  And  thus  it  was 
ordered  by  the  Supreme  Ruler.  A whole  people  was  ennobled, 
elevated,  sublimated.  Human  nature  rose  to  its  loftiest 
heights.  P'or  the  time  its  selfish  and  its  sordid  parts  were  purg- 
ed away.  Gain,  wealth,  office,  pleasure  and  the  things  generally 
for  which  men  struggle  and  jostle  each  other  in  smaller  times, 
were  contemned  by  the  spirit  of  that  age,  while  it  soared  to 
nobler  things.  Self,  whether  asserted  in  self-seeking  activity  or 
manifested  in  self-indulgent  ease,  was  for  the  time  dethroned 
and  the  spirit  of  sacrifice  reigned  in  its  stead.  YVe  in  the  midst 
of  a material  and  self-seeking  age,  whose  atmosphere  affects  us 
all,  scarcely  recognize  this  as  the  same  world  or  ourselves  as 
those  spiritually  uplifted  mortals  of  forty  years  ago.  Is  it 
strange,  then,  that  we  cherish  tenderly  and  fondly  the  memory 
of  days  mien  we  moved  on  a higher  plane  than  now?  At  such 
times,  we  are  hearing  the  voice  of  our  better  nature,  speaking 
to  us  out  of  that  nobler  past,  reminding  us  that  we  were  not  al- 
ways engrossed  in  the  selfish  pursuits,  which  absorb  us  now. 
and  that  there  was  a time,  when  we  were  deaf  to  such  things 


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and  harkened  only  to-  the  trumpet  call  of  duty,  summoning  us 
to  immeasurable  sacrifices.  At  such  times  there  rises  before 
our  eves,  not  unapt  to  be  dimmed  with  tears,  the  vision  of  a bet 
ter  age,  peopled  with  heroes,  among  whom  we  moved  not  wholly 
unworthy.  Is  it  strange  then,  I say,  that  when  anniversaries  like 
this  lead  us  back  to  a nobler  past,  in  which  we  were  at  home,  we 
feel  an  exaltation,  which  the  commonplace  present  cannot  give 
or  take  away? 

I fear  that  with  all  my  laboring  I cannot  make  those,  who 
were  not  dwellers  in  that  period,  comprehend  either  its  spirit  or 
the  effect,  which  its  memories  have  upon  us  who  did  live  and 
move  therein.  They  cannot  understand  us.  Our  language  is 
strange  to  them.  They  marvel  at  the  depth  of  our  feelings. 
They  regard  us  with  a sort  of  patronizing  pity.  They  are  dis- 
posed to  account  charitably  for  our  silly  enthusiasm  on  the 
score  of  age.  What  more  can  be  expected,  they  say  to  them- 
selves, of  a lot  of  old  fellows,  who,  conscious  of  their  impotence 
in  the  affairs  of  the  living  present,  dream  about,  and  in  their 
dreams  magnify,  a dead  past,  in  which  they  played  their  little 
part?  We  thank  them  for  their  amiable  and  charitable  senti- 
ments; but  let  us  tell  them  with  due  modesty,  that  while  we  be- 
lieve that  they,  who  are  of  the  same  blood  and  lineage  as  our- 
selves, would,  under  the  same  circumstances,  do  as  we  did, 
strive  as  strenuously,  suffer  as  cheerfully,  be  unselfish  and  self- 
denying  as  thoroughly,  we  have  this  advantage  of  them:  We 

had  the  opportunity  which  they  have  not  had,  and  which,  God 
forbid,  that  they  should.  We  have  done  what  they  would  do. 
We  have  in  our  time  risen  to  heights  of  devotion  and  conduct, 
to  which  they  would  rise,  if  the  opportunity  were  given.  And 
incomprehensible  and  ridiculous  as  it  may  seem,  we  are  very 
proud  of  it.  We  feel  on  such  anniversarries  as  this  uplifted,  for 
they  take  us  back  to  a period  in  which,  whatever  we  may  have 
done  and  been  since,  our  soul-life  was  on  a higher  plane  than 
it  has  ever  been  at  any  other  time.  Aye,  as  I have  said  more 
than  once,  speaking  as  the  representative  of  the  average  Con- 
federate soldier:  "That  period  of  my  life  is  the  one  with  which  I 
am  the  most  nearly  satisfied.  A persistent,  steadv  effort  to  do  my 
duty — an  effort  persevered  in  in  the  midst  of  privation,  hardship 
and  danger.  If  ever  I was  unselfish,  it  was  then.  If  ever  I was 
capable  of  self-denial,  it  was  then.  If  ever  I was  able  to  trample 
on  self-indulgence,  it  was  then.  If  ever  I was  strong  to  make 
sacrifices,  even  rnfio  death,  it  was  in  those  days;  and  if  I w^ere 
called  upon  to  say  on  the  peril  of  my  soul,  when  it  lived  its 
highest  life,  when  it  was  least  faithless  to  true  manhood,  when 
it  was  most  loyal  to  the  best  part  of  man's  nature,  I u-ould  an- 


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swer:  “In  those  days  when  I followed  a battle-torn  flag  through 
its  shifting  fortune  of  victory  and  defeat." 

And  now,  my  comrades,  how  easy  it  is  to  name  the  word  that 
characterizes  and  strikes  the  key-note  of  that  time  and  should 
explain  our  pride  to  all  the  world — self-sacrificc — that  spirit  and 
that  conduct  which  raise  poor  mortals  nearest  to  divinity.  Oh, 
God  in  heaven,  what  sacrifices  did  we  not  make!  How  our  very 
heart-strings  were  torn  as  we  turned  from  our  homes,  our  par- 
ents, our  children — in  some  instances  “the  bride,  was  made  the 
wedded  wife  yestreen!"  How  poor  we  were!  How  ragged! 
How  hungry!  When  I recall  the  light-heartedness,  the  courage, 
the  cheerfulness,  the  fidelity  to  duty  which  lived  and  flourished 
under  such  circumstances,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I thank 
God  that  for  four  long  years  I wore,  if  not  brilliantly,  at  least 
faithfully  and  steadfastly,  in  camp  and  bivouac,  in  advance  and 
retreat,  on  the  march  and  on  the  battlefield,  the  uniform  of  a 
Confederate  soldier. 

I am  very  glad  to  receive  from  a most  competent  helper  time- 
ly assistance  in  my  feeble  effort  to  portray  the  spirit  of  that 
ag'e.  In  his  recent  noble  oration  in  memory  of  McKinley,  Sec- 
retary of  State  Hay  has,  with  the  gifts  of  a scholar  and  an  ora- 
tor, unfolded  this  subject.  For  we  must,  my  comrades,  recog- 
nize the  truth  that  the  same  spirit  prevailed  among  our  foes. 
They,  like  ourselves,  felt  that  they  were  fighting  for  their  coun- 
try. From  our  standpoint  they  were  carrying  on  a war  of  con- 
quest, which  we  were  resisting  with  the  indignation  of  patriots, 
defending-  our  country  against  insolent  and  wicked  invasion. 
Such  was  their  spirit,  and  such  was  ours.  Love  of  country  was 
the  source  of  both.  Devotion  to  duty,  as  seen  by  each,  was  its 
life.  And  so  Mr.  Hay,  in  the  oration  to  which  I have  referred, 
speaking  of  the  young  volunteer  McKinley,  uses  language 
which  applies  to  the  youth  of  1861  equally  well,  whether  he  don- 
ned the  gray  or  the  blue.  He  says:  “It  is  not  easy  to  give 

those  of  a later  generation  any  clear  idea  of  that  extraordinary 
spiritual  awakening  which  passed  over  the  country  at  the  first 
red  signal  fires  of  the  war  between  the  states.  * * * I do 

not  mean  that  in  the  north  alone  there  was  this  austere  wrest- 
ling- with  conscience.  In  the  south  as  well,  below  all  the  ef- 
fervescence and  excitement  of  a people,  perhaps  more  given  to 
eloquent  speech  than  we  were,  there  was  a profound  agcnv  of 
question  and  answer,  the  question  to  decide  whether  honor  and 
freedom  did  not  call  them  to  revolution  and  war  * * * The 

men  who  are  living  today  and  who  were  young  in  i860,  will 
never  forget  the  glory  and  glamour  which  filled  the  earth  and 
sky  when  the  long  twilight  of  uncertainty  and  doubt  was  ended 
and  the  time  for  action  had  come.  * * * The  fluttering  of 


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the  flag  in  the  clear  sky  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  young  men. 
Patriotism,  which  had  been  a rhetorical  expression,  became  a 
passionate  emotion,  in  which  instinct,  logic  and  feeling  were 
fused.  The  country  was  worth  saving;  it  could  be  saved  only  by 
fire.  Xo  sacrifice  was  too  great;  the  young  men  of  the  country 
were  ready  for  the  sacrifice;  come  weal,  come  woe,  they  were 
ready. 

“At  seventeen  years  of  age  William  McKinley  heard  this 
summons  of  his  country.  He  was  the  sort  of  youth  t0‘  whom  a 
military  life  in  ordinary  times  would  possess  no  attractions.  His 
nature  was  far  different  from  that  of  the  ordinary  soldier.  He 
had  other  dreams  of  life,  its  prizes  and  pleasures,  than  its 
marches  and  battles.  But  to  his  mind  there  was  no  choice  or 
question.  The  banner  floating  in  the  morning  breeze  was  the 
beckoning  gesture  of  his  country.  The  thrilling  notes  of  the 
trumpet  called  him — him  and  no  other- — into  the  ranks." 

I have  thus,  with  the  help  borrowed  from  Mr.  Hay,  attempt- 
ed with  a view  mainly  to  make  our  feelings  understood,  to  re- 
produce the  spirit  in  which  we  entered  into  the  war.  Let  none 
of  my  hearers,  whether  old  comrades  or  those  others,  who 
honor  us  with  their  presence,  have  any  apprehension  that  1 in- 
tend to  take  up  the  war  itself — and  with  such  a theme  extend 
this  discourse  t0‘  a deadly  length.  I have  no  purpose  to  play 
the  historian  and  attempt  to  describe  campaigns  and  battles.  I 
prefer  to  the  narrative  of  foughten  fields,  however  proud  we 
justly  are  of  them,  the  consideration  of  the  mental  and  spiritual 
features  of  those  times.  So  I shall  say  only  of  the  war  itself 
that  the  same  exaltation  of  spirit,  the  same  elevation  above  the 
material  interests  which  rule  in  ordinary  times,  the  same  victory 
of  self-denial,  the  same  reign  of  sacrifice,  with  which  the  war 
commenced,  endured  to  the  end.  For  different  reasons  I shall 
not  dwell  upon  the  next  period — a period  in  which 
from  hatred,  generated  by  the  strife,  or  stupiditv,  or 
both,  our  conquerors  undertook  in  our  despite  to 

reverse  the  order  of  civilization,  to  subordinate  intelligence  to 
ignorance,  the  superior  race  to  the  inferior,  the  Anglo-Saxon  to 
the  African.  I refer,  of  course,  to  the  hideous  reconstruction 
period.  Let  us  pass  that  by.  Let  us  try  to  forget  it;  for  its 
memory  revives  in  our  hearts  a bitter  hatred  which  four  years  of 
bloody  war  had  not  engendered.  Let  us  think  of  this  peaceful 
evening  of  our  career,  and  take  some  account  of  some  changes 
of  view  and  of  speech  concerning  the  war.  These  changes,  to 
which  I refer,  have  all  taken  place  among  our  former  foes.  We 
have  not  changed.  We  felt  from  the  beginning  that  we  were 
right.  We  feel  the  same  way  now.  I have  yet  to  meet  the 
Confederate  soldier,  who  does  not  believe  that  the  principle  on 


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which  he  fought  was  right.  Whatever  may  be  his  view  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  this  great  country  remaining  united  under  one  gov- 
ernment, and  however  unreservedly  he  may  concede  that  the  is- 
sue of  the  war  settled  for  all  time  that  it  was  to  be  so  united, 
he  accepts  that  conclusion  as  the  decision  of  the  sword,  and  not 
the  logical  outcome  of  the  argument.  Placing  himself  back  in 
1861,  he  knows  that  his  state  had  the  right  to  secede  from  one 
confederacy  and  join  in  forming  another.  He  knows  that  he 
was  never  a rebel.  He  is  sure  that  while  he  did  his  part  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  in  a great  war,  he  never  took  part  in  a rebel- 
lion. Pie  knows  that  he  did  his  best  to  repel  the  invasion  of  his 
country,  but  he  is  certain  that  he  was  never  untrue  to  his  alle- 
giance. These  were  his  sentiments  then,  they  continue  with 
him  now,  and  they  will  accompany  him  to  his  grave.  No  change 
has  come  over  us. 

But  the  views  of  our  brethren  of  the  north  seem  to  have 
changed  somewhat  in  this  respect.  They  begin  to  see  that  great 
struggle  in  its  true  light.  They  begin  to  recognize  the  fact  that 
great  organized  communities  (sovereign  states  we  regarded 
them),  in  population  five  times  more  numerous  than  the  re- 
volted colonists  in  revolutionary  times,  and  in  territorial  extent 
a vast  empire,  were  united  with  practical  unanimity  in  uphold- 
ing political  doctrines,  which  history,  tradition  and  logic  ap- 
proved, though  statesmanship  and  expediency  might  condemn. 
They  begin  to  admit  that  we  were  not  resisting  lawful  authority. 
We.  were  not  seeking  to  overturn  any  government.  History, 
tradition  or  logic  never  warranted  the  application  of  the  term 
“rebellion,”  to  that  great  struggle — and  The  people  of  the  north 
have  begun  and  more  than  begun  to  see  that  truth.  How  the 
words  “rebel"  and  “rebellion”  are  passing  out  of  use.  Here  and 
there  there  may  be  some  paltry  creature,  narrow,  rancorous, 
with-  small  brain  and  smaller  soul,  like  that  idiot  of  a Grand 
Army  camp  commander  in  Washington,  I believe,  who  recently 
made  a spectacle  of  his  silly  self  by  proclaiming  that  we  "were 
and  everlastingly  shall  be  rebels."  But  generally  you  will  find 
in  the  current  speech  and  literature  of  the  north,  instead  of  the 
old  nonsense,  “rebel"  and  "rebellion,"  the  words  “Confederate" 
and  “Civil  War.”  This  is  of  interest  to  us,  not  as  marking  the 
disuse  of  terms  for  which  we  cared  not  in  the  least,  but  as 
marking  progress  in  the  north’s  true  appreciation  of  that  great 
struggle.  But  the  phrase  "Civil  War,"  while  marking  an  ad- 
vance towards  the  truth,  is  still  not  correct.  It  was  not  a civil 
war.  The  true  conception  of  a civil  war  is  that  of  a war  be- 
tween opposing  parties  in  the  same  state  or  kingdom — a con- 
flict in  which  communities  are  disrupted,  families  divided,  broth- 
er arrayed  against  brother.  Our  war  had  none  of  those  fea- 


9 

tit  res.  There  was  no  division  in  Georgia,  for  instance.  There 
was  no  friction  of  the  machinery  of  goverment.  There  was  no 
suspension  of  civil  law.  There  was  no  closing  of  courts.  1 here 
was  no  resistance  to  the  tax  gatherer.  No  portion  of  the  citi- 
zens of  Georgia  were  fighting  any  other  portion.  The  seces- 
sion of  the  state  had  not  changed  the  relations  of  ils  citizens  to 
the  state  or  to  each  other.  All  internal  affairs  remained  in  their 
normal  condition.  All  things  pertaining  to  government  went  on 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  What  was  true  of  Georgia  was  true 
of  all  the  other  states  of  the  Confederacy.  All  that  vast  region 
between  the  Potomac  and  the  Rio  Grande  was  solid  and  undi- 
vided, and  its  population  was  united  with  practical  unanimity. 
That  wide  empire  and  that  great  population,  presided  over  by 
one  organized  government  and  living  under  the  folds  of  one 
flag,  was  at  war,  not  with  parts  of  itself,  but  with  a great  out- 
side power.  Such  a contest  does  not  meet  our  understanding 
of  “civil  war.”  In  the  border  states  of  Kentucky  and  Missouri 
where  the  people  were  divided  among  themselves,  that  phrase 
could  be  used  with  more  propriety.  But  as  to  the  great  strug- 
gle as  a whole,  “civil  war”  is  a misuse  of  language  and  a perver- 
sion of  history.  The  accurate  and  exact  appellation  of  that  war 
was  given  by  Mr.  Stephens,  when  in  1867  he  wrote  his  book, 
“The  War  Between  the  States."  That  was  what  it  was;  no  "re- 
bellion," no  “civil  war,"  but  a war  between  a majority  of  the 
states,  united  in  a government  retaining  the  name  of  United 
States,  and  a minority  of  the  states,  united  in  a government  as- 
suming the  name  of  “Confederate  States.”  The  only  objection 
to  the  name  is  its  length.  It  is  too  long  for  a busy  people,  who 
are  disposed  to  be  as  brief  as  possible  in  their  speech  and  have 
no  time,  for  instance,  to  say  telephone  or  telegram,  but  must 
needs  shorten  them  to  “phone”  and  “wire.”  Then  why  not  drop 
"rebellion,"  “civil  war,”  “war  between  the  states,"  and  call  it 
simply  "I he  Great  War?”  There  is  no  danger  that  any  well  in- 
formed person  will  be  misled  or  in  doubt  by  reason  of  that  des- 
ignation. It  was  not  only  a great  war,  but  ‘The  Great  War.” 
When,  in  the  tide  of  time,  has  there  been  one  greater  or  so 
great?  None  of  which  we  have  any  authentic  history.  We  read, 
but  not  without  distrust,  of  Xerxes’  army  of  a million  men. 
The  north  put  in  the  field  more  than  two  million.  The  vast 
host  of  Xerxes  was  marshalled  against  a few  score  thousands  of 
Greeks — a mere  handful  to  the  armies,  which,  though  inferior  in 
numbers  to  the  armies  of  the  north,  marched  by  hundreds  of 
thousands  first  and  last  under  the  southern  banner.  Great  as 
compared  with  all  other  wars  in  the  numbers  engaged,  it  was 
relatively  greater  in  the  area  of  its  operations.  Great  in  the 
size  of  its  armies,  greater  in  the  vastness  of  its  area,  it  was 


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greater  still  in  the  number  of  its  battles — an  average  of  a battle 
for  every  week  of  the  four  years  of  its  duration — battles,  not 
skirmishes,  many  of  them  Shilohs  and  Gettysburgs — not  San 
Juans  and  El  Caneys.  Greater  still  in  its  slain,  its  wounded, 
its  rivers  of  blood.  Greatest  of  all  in  the  noble  sentiments  which 
actuated  the  combatants  on  either  side.  “The  Great  War"  then, 
let  it  be  in  our  speech  and  our  school  books,  as  well  as  in  our 
memories. 

My  comrades,  we  are  taking  a long  look  backward  today. 
When  vve  face  about  and  look  the  other  way,  there  is  but  a little 
space  to  be  swept  by  our  mortal  vision.  We  know  not  what 
those  few  remaining  years  may  bring,  but  we  do  know  what 
they  cannot  take  away.  They  cannot  take  from  us  the  recollec- 
tion that  we  were  good  soldiers  in  “The  Great  War.”  They 
cannot  rob  us  of  our  just  pride  in  that  fact.  They  cannot,  while 
life  lasts,  stop  the  quickened  rhythm  of  our  hearts,  whenever  we 
recall  those  davs  of  duty  and  sacrifice. 


